Sweet
by 1withRussia
Summary: After a meeting with a stranger at his window, Canada starts to crave blood. He would do absolutely anything to get it. Vampire. Barely any yaoi. Review pretty please!


**A/N: **Before you read, I would like to inform you, dear reader, that this story was much inspired by the utterly suspenseful '_Salem's Lot _by the magnificent Stephen King. You see, my addiction to vampire novels (not the Twilight series, for that is a load of shi-... you get the picture...) has never been satisfied but with this novel, I feel at peace. What a wonderful work of art indeed! Anyway, because of my love of this book, I will try to duplicate King's writing style to give off the wonderful suspense that he uses so swiftly. I will probably fail at this... Also, I don't fully agree with what he thinks of vampires. I believe that it takes a day or two for the "virus" to set in and until then the victim is similar to a zombie! Yay zombies :) So yes if you couldn't tell, this story is about a vampire...

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><p>The sweetness. It was overwhelming. The taste of iron. Of crimson. Of a delicious, ravishing neck.<p>

Just thinking about it aroused him. He let out a silky laugh from his normally vacant throat. His violet eyes sparkled unjustifiably in a similar way to the sparkling eyes of a child having daydreams of fluid, dripping chocolate fountains and morsels suited in crackly wrappers. He laughed that same fabric-like laugh. I should be a creative writer, he thought, with all these wonderfully happy analogies. Ah, but I have to get to work!

He went into a fit cleaning his clean house. His annoyingly bright and white house that made him hiss. But it had to be perfect. He dusted the little nooks and crannies of each cupboard, vacuumed under the sofa, washed and rewashed the dishes, and _shut all the windows_. It must be perfect, if not... Russia wasn't one to like the house dirty or anything misplaced. He would surely be beaten again. He laughed again, but this time it was a deep, sinister laugh from the depths of his nonexistent soul. One that reverberated through his trachea and through the house. Even the dark cupboards shook in fear. That _idiot_. After every beating Russia would simply beg for forgiveness. "I couldn't help myself", he would say. "I wasn't thinking." And he would have a certain look in those deep violet eyes... A look of deep-seeded guilt of things unimaginable, the kind that wraps its claws around your neck and drowns you in a bathtub of sorrow and muddy water. Canada sat himself on one of the bright couches and thought. If he had such hatred then why would he waste his precious time cleaning the stupid place? No... he had no hatred for the man, just stupid, unmasked love. But not after a few nights ago. Someone- an angel?- had sung to him sweet nothings as he, a man clad in darkness, ravished him as Canada had never been ravished before. Now Canada felt nothing toward his abuser. It was only a habit to try to please him.

Another laugh. Silence. A silence that lasted four hours until the return of the husband, the abuser, the newly acclaimed _victim _after a week's long absence. A sweet sigh, filled with old emotions of happiness that he could no longer feel in this state. As much as he smiled, as much as he laughed, he felt no emotions. The front door opened quickly, a sign that Russia was angry. His thick leather boots left mud and snow and gravel as he stepped into the house. Canada winced. He would be blamed for that.

"What are you up to?" A command, not a question.

"Nothing... _love_." A smile, a horrible smile that any existent god looked away from. No one could save him now...

Russia was taken aback. However, having had a bit more vodka than necessary, it only angered him further rather than frightening him. Sharp, white, clean teeth. All four of Canada's canines hung like stalagmites or stalactites from his abnormally pink gums, dripping with saliva. He was hungry. Russia just looked on with frustration. "That is not the answer I was looking for, sunflower." He lunged at the sweet, open mouthed Canada, who sat still, this was his opportunity. With abnormal strength, he held the much bigger man's squared shoulders and went for the neck. How he had craved this since he woke up one morning earlier in the week. He remembered how the sun burned his flesh. He ran around the room closing the shutters and afterward, tending to his burns. The scream that was released from Russia's throat was like no other. However, it pleased Canada to no end. The gushing red fluid spurt out of his lover's neck and into his awaiting mouth. Russia no longer struggled, he seemed to oddly enjoy the sensation as Canada did when he was ravished. Soon, love, you will join me in this eternal darkness...

-.-.-.-.-

Earlier that week, Canada had been patching up his cuts and bruises from is last beating. He hadn't fabreezed the curtains with the right scent. He knew sunflowers was the right one, but he had none at the time and Russia was bout to come home. What was done was done, however and Canada simply tended to his injuries. Russia had left a bit earlier, stating that he was not to return 'till a week had passed, maybe more if he so desired.

Canada knew he would miss the big teddy bear, as he tended to think him as, but to keep himself entertained, he decided he would watch some of Alfred's cheesy movies. Of course, he wouldn't allow any evidence to be left behind. He had sat in his comfy white couch from sunrise to midnight watching movies of all kinds. One he quite enjoyed was Inception. Ha, he thought, just the thought of being in one's dream is mediocre! But it was interesting enough and prevented him from getting any sleep, for he was up thinking about all the possibilities had that idea been possible. The second night, he watched a movie that would not let him sleep without nightmares. The name of the movie, he did not remember. Nor will he ever remember exactly what happened next after the nightmare. But the darkness remembers, and it tell the story like this:

Canada was sweating and turning in his bed. He seemed to be as far from at ease as it was humanly possible. The window had been closed shut, but it rattled with the freezing, malevolent wind outside. It rattled and it rattled. It even rattled into his morbid dream and into his soon to be dark soul. He woke up in a daze. What had happened? He couldn't remember. Was he still asleep? He would never find that out, because, as he reached out to pinch himself, his window opened with ease. A beautiful man, pallid with eyes like black holes and hair like fire, entered the small home deep within his dreams. Not only did this man look beautiful, but sounded it too. He spoke without vocal sound, his voice was in Canada's empty mind. "Will you let me in?"

Canada was shocked for a moment, was he not already in the home? "Yes," he said, in spite of the flawed logic. That is when he felt he _really_ woke up, though almost nothing changed enough to give it away. He was still sitting, he was still looking toward the window, but the man had just entered. The man extended his arm, which Canada gladly took in his hands. He embraced the man as if it was a long lost loved one who had just come back from a trip gone awry. Everything about this man was wrong, but it felt so right. The look of hunger and lust in his eyes were right, and so were his attractive sharp, white teeth. The man kissed Canada fluidly. He teasing mouth ran down the side of his face to his neck, where it lingered for a moment before nibbling. Canada giggles and mumbled something about Russia finding out. But the other man just continued until he himself could take it no longer. The angel of a man gave into his lust and drank the sweetness that oozed from Canada's neck. Canada had been a good boy, he hadn't even screamed. It hurt him, but he had experience more pains in his life that a bite.

The man soon left, his thirst quenched, leaving Canada blissfully asleep. Darkness would say no more on the subject...

-.-.-.-.-

"Oh Canada..." Russia was afraid, but he had to do what he was told. He stalked through the dark, narrow hallways to undo himself. "Our h-home and native land..." He was more frightened than he would normally allow, even with his sister. With her, he feared for his future, with this mad man that he no longer knew, he feared for his life. Who was this person? It was certainly not the quiet, loving man he had fallen deeply and madly in love with. It wasn't the man that he would give his life up for. It wasn't the man that he hated himself for hurting almost everyday. _This_ Canada had _bit_ him. However, he only drank the sweet blood that drained from his throat for a bit before deciding he would have fun and take revenge. He patched up the wound so that no precious blood would be wasted before deciding on what "game" to play.

_Sing louder... _

That horrible voice! It was in his mind! It was everywhere, it came from everywhere! God, where _was he_? Canada had fled, begging for a game of hide-and-seek. More like a game of seek-and-die. He hated this more than anything, this stupid mind game. He had played so many of these with other people just to mess with their heads, but this... It was too much. He was being used and thrown about like a lifeless, worthless rag doll. "True patriot... love in all thy... sons? Sons command." This was not the time to forget that god damned song! Christ, what was the next line?

Russia had begun to cry. How was this happening? He was Russia! People were afraid of _him_! They shivered when he neared. They cried when he smiled. They preferred suicide to his mind games! They were afraid of _him_! Not... not... who? "I can't! I don't know, I don't remember! God, where are you, come out, please!"

_Beg for it..._

"I'm begging you!" he was on his knees, literally begging. His eyes were bloodshot from tears and his voice trembled under the watchful eye of Canada, wherever he may be. His knees hurts under his massive weight. Russia was a huge man. He was incredibly tall and built. Even on his knees, he seemed to tower above people, but not now. He seemed diminutive in comparisons to his captor's power and lust.

_Begging for what, _sunflower_! _The voice mocked. How could he use that pet name, a nickname out of pure love, against him? It seemed utterly wrong the way it came out, sounding like it scraped Canada's trachea.

The tears would not stop. They came like thundering rivers. "_Please_ just come out and kill me already, _I'm begging you_!" Russia was about to plead again, but the words shattered like glass and pierced his throat in many places.

Canada isn't one to be mean, so he did just that...

-.-.-.-.-

That same day that he attacked Russia, he felt the need for more blood. Who was near him? Ah! Of course!

-.-.-.-.-

America was treading through his halls, ready to go to bed. Tons of shit he had put off from earlier that week had been finally done and he was deprived of sleep. Blissful sleep! He thought of the wonders of sleep and silently hoped he wouldn't be kept up that night. He had known that his brother was in a bad relationship. One where he was constantly beaten... but what could he do? Unfortunately, the whole situation kept him up many a threatening cold night. Suddenly, his ears caught a sound. It came from... Where did it come from? It sure was lovely and enticing, sweet even.

_O! Say can you see by the dawn's early light..._

God he loved that song. It was _his_ song... The voice kept singing so sweetly almost to the very end. The quiet, sincere voice did the song justice, he thought. He fell in love with _that voice_. Whoever it belonged to, he was in love with. He was ready to marry and give his life for this person.

_O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave... Sing the rest, America... It's a beautiful song. It is who you are, is it not?_

Yes! Yes! It was him. This song represented all that is America, the land of the free... _He_ should be singing this! "O'er the land of the free..." he sung like never before. His voice was different, it seemed a dark kind of beautiful. It was empty and hollow yet it sounded almost as pretty and justified as the voice from before. It was missing a certain something, but he sang anyway. "...and the home... of the... brav-"

And then a sharp, blood curdling scream.

-.-.-.-.-

At another of their annoying UN meetings, England looked around, worried. America did not seem... right. He seemed off a bit, more than usual. He was just sitting there, the oddest expression on his face. The table beneath him darkened under his shadow, seemingly the only thing literal dark about him other than his eyes. Figuratively, he seemed completely and wholly dark.

"America? Do you find yourself well?" England said after deciding that staring at America would do nothing. He was getting absolutely no reaction as he normally did. America would usually pick up on it and tell England to take a picture or say something about how he knows he's handsome already and doesn't need anybody telling or showing it to him. Cheeky bastard.

"Ugh... I-I just... ngh..." America responded.

Was that it? No "Dude, I am feeling _amazing_! I just totally did the most awesome and heroic thing! Blah blah blah"? England was worried for the idiot. Other than not acting like himself, he sure did not look like his normal self either. He seemed awfully pale and his bruises- where did those come from?- stood out like sore thumbs against the almost see-through skin. His normally bright, happy blue eyes were dark and empty with even darker circles underneath. They were bloodshot, swollen, and deeply set on his pallid face. They had no life in them, his eye, as one would say if they were the poetic type.

"You bumbling idiot! What on earth did you do to yourself this time? You must have hung out with that Russia! He seems to be acting much like you..." He looked over to the other end of the room where Russia was slowly swaying back and forth an outer worldly look in his eyes... with no life in them. No one seemed to notice or care. He sat next to no one and spoke to no one. Where was Canada? It didn't matter. Russia also seemed paler than usual and his eyes were similarly set deeply in his skull with thick violet outlining the bottom lid. "What _have_ you been doing with that man?"

-.-.-.-.-

At the next UN meeting, England noticed that America was gone. So was Russia and someone else... who? He couldn't tell. But France was also missing, as was Spain. Many others were too. The whole conference room seemed empty just like America's eyes the meeting before. Germany seemed to have the same symptoms that America had earlier and so did everyone else except himself, Italy, Switzerland, Sweden, and China. "What's going on around here?" He thought aloud, catching the attention of Italy, who had surprisingly noticed the absences as well.

"Vee~ Weird isn't it? I wonder where everybody went? Maybe they're eating pasta? Ooh, I would like to join them!" He didn't quite understand the graveness of the situation that laid out before them lied a thick winter blanket. Something was happening, and it wasn't a pasta party. It was something horrible, something unspeakable. Something absolutely insane to even think about. And England knew.

"Bollocks..."

-.-.-.-.-

At the following UN meeting it was just him, Italy and Prussia, who had come crying over his brother's recent death. It was then that they noticed that almost everyone had dead. The rest were probably dead, too. No, they was surely dead... But then... Prussia explained that he came not to mourn his brother but to see who was "left". After England asked for clarification, Prussia explained himself. He told them that he had _seen_ his brother get up after his sudden death of a week's sickness. _But he was __dead_, how was it possible? He checked the pulse himself, he swore a million times that he did! After witnessing his brother's undeath, he had hid in his room until daylight, when he escaped over to the the building they were in currently. He wasn't sure he would be safe in the melancholy room, but he made it through the dark and seemingly endless night. He had even heard a scream somewhere. It sounded like Austria. He almost started crying while telling the story when something happened. They saw a side of Italy they never thought possible before. They didn't think Italy, whose mind was happy and pasta filled, had a side like that of his younger brother Vatican City. England later explained to Sealand, who still seemed normal enough, "Suddenly, Italy got very religious."

-.-.-.-.-

The fourth UN meeting of that month consisted of no one. Everyone was gone. The people of each country had no optimism left. They would all be taken and "ravished". There was no hope for them. Even the existent god or gods looked away, faithless.

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><p><strong>AN: **I feel like it was more fast paced than I had originally wanted, but for the most part, I like it... I think, heh. Yeah, I totally failed King's writing style, who is excruciatingly slow paced... but in an amazingly awesome way :)

This is an early Halloween present, by the way (I'll probably never get around to doing something for Halloween other than this anyway).

Please, please, please review! It only takes a few seconds and I need the constructive criticism! It's what keeps me going!


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